Palingenesis
by xEren-Jaeger
Summary: You're born. You live. You die. That's what he'd thought, what everyone had thought. But they were wrong, oh, so wrong. When you're trapped in an endless cycle, you begin to lose sight of the things that fuel the fire in your soul, the spirit reflected in your eyes. Warnings: Gore, Violence, Coarse Language, Spoilers.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** This entire story started out on a whim, a very random whim. I thought, what about a 'reincarnation' story? And then I realised, 'Everyone is doing that. It's like FF7 time travel stories. So unoriginal!'

So then I thought, 'What if Eren was the only one? And what if he remembered every single reincarnation?' and that's how this started.

Also, potential for manga spoilers. And I started this story before I read chapter 50, onwards. So, AU from that point onwards.

Thanks for reading!

**C/N: **Short. The next chapter is longer, and the one after that, even more. I hope to continue increasing the length.

* * *

The sky was grey.

Dreary and dim, clouds casting everything into a dull, slow sort of haze, the kind in which people feel a bit muffled and damp, and claustrophobia slowly begins to set in. Often a furtive glance is spared upwards. Wary, perhaps, of the very real potential of rain. Regret, maybe, that the washing on the line was still out. Or worry, even, that one may catch a cold without their umbrella.

This city was different.

Gazing down from the roof of a skyscraper, he pondered this.

'_They don't look up. They don't seek to fly.'_

And so he extends his hand and feels the wind.

_He flies._

* * *

That day began as any other day.

That morning was like any other morning. He was asleep, his limbs sprawled across the bed, pillow tucked up in his arms, and the faintest sound of a snore escaping his mouth. Brown hair was messed and in tangles.

Since this morning started all other mornings, it continued as his usual mornings did.

His fists clenched into the fluffy head receptacle, teeth gritted, before a few low, snarled words escaped his lips.

_"I'll… Kill them all!"_

And then, he'd shoot up, breathing fast, eyes wide, his body soaked with sweat and an outstretched hand, grasping at something that was no longer there.

For a time, he'd just sit. Staring at something unseen with that wide eyed, searching look. He'd slowly relax to a haunted gaze, riddled with guilt and tainted with regret as he stared down at his hand. And then he'd go slack, as if someone had cut his strings, eyes glazing over, staring at nothing.

He'd take a few long, deep breaths. Wipe the sweat and clinging hair from his eyes.

And move.

One would call it mechanical.

_Left foot. Right. Left. Right._

Over and over. _Repeat. Repeat._

Walking through the empty hallway, past the vacant rooms and unused walls.

Into the bathroom, to gaze at the mirror blankly, before slinking to the right into the shower, with scalding water and cheap soap his only company.

He'd slide out of the shower, pale skin a heated red, back into the bedroom, and to the dresser. Give the clothes in the dresser a bored look.

Briefs, slacks, shirt, jacket, and tie. Always the same. The same colour, the same style, worn the same way.

He'd dress himself, swift and fluid, honed from countless years of practice, depositing his towel in the hamper as he left.

He'd head to the kitchen. It was clean, but sparse and uninviting.

Pour out some cereal. Some Milk. Take a spoon and bowl. Slowly eat without a thought. Then rinse the bowl and the spoon and set them on the rack to dry.

With a glance to the clock, he'd rise and head towards the front door, pausing at the mirror just beside it for a short moment.

Then he'd walk out, locking the door and leaving the small, empty house behind him.


	2. 1 - How this all began

**A/N:** Should I try to make these a little longer?

So far, 43 hits… Heh, that's pretty good for something I posted only a few days ago! And I hope that those people liked it or were interested a little. Drop a review if you feel like it, yeah?

This is a flashback.

And, hugs to those who can guess the POV of this chapter.

Also, holy sheet, because this chapter is 850 words!

* * *

_He thought back to when this had all began._

"S-Sir, there're too m-many!" A feminine voice, usually soft and sweet, filled with terror and horror and so much more he hadn't a clue where to start.

A male patted her on the shoulder, in some sort of comforting gesture, to reassure, despite the fact that hand was shaking like mad. His eyes rapidly flickering from the titans surrounding them to the short man beside them.

And that man's eyes were fixed on the large branch of the tree they were in. Cold, calm exterior. Because if he wasn't steady and strong and collected, the others would damn well shatter to pieces and they'd all be fucked. More fucked than they already were.

Another woman hissed from behind, scowling at the monsters below as they scratched endlessly at the tree trunk below. Blades drawn, body poised. Really, she was so much like _him._

He couldn't help it. He choked. Clenched his fists at the mere _thought_ of _him_. How he'd failed him.

Because dammit, he'd trusted the blond bastard. He'd fucking trusted him, and it had been their undoing.

And in the end, he'd failed them. All of them. And _him_.All because he'd follow the orders of that man, whom he had trusted implicitly and whom had lead them to this end.

Fucked if it didn't hurt, because it did. Erd, Auruo, Gunter. Petra. Fucking _Petra_. He'd trusted him then, too, and they'd paid the price. But he didn't think about it. He just pushed aside.

_Blind._ He was so fucking blind. Everyone was.

In the end, they were all nothing more than pawns, used, abused, and then tossed away like so much rubbish.

And even as they stood there, gas almost gone and nearly out of blades, he was the only one that realised. And he hated himself, because they all desperately hoped that he could save them, that they'd live another day, another hour, another moment. But there was no such hope. There are no miracles.

With a loud _crack_, the branch breaks, and they all propel themselves away.

He grits his teeth and grimly prepares for the end.

Christa is the first to die. Having the least gas, and no blades, she was unable to defend herself from the 15 meter class behind them. It gnashed its teeth and ripped her apart, blood drooling down its face as it shoved her remain down its throat.

Jean let out a choked sound, and with a roar, he charged for it. Why, he didn't know. Attempting to save her was futile, she was minced, barely resembling anything human, and was slowly rotting in the stomach fluids of a monster.

Mikasa joined him, gas blasting behind her. Really, she was so much like _him_ sometimes that it hurt. Some unknown emotion glinted in her eyes, then resolve. _She was ready to die_.

They swung in tandem, Jean slashing out the fucker's eyes and Mikasa ripping out its neck. But by then, they'd ran out of gas. An abnormal dashed towards them from behind.

And they didn't stand a chance.

Mikasa was grabbed right out of the air, her body crushed in the hands of the abnormal and turned into some sort of grotesque jelly.

She didn't make a sound as her bones were crushed, merely glaring at the titan holding her until the very, very end.

Jean was flying directly towards the open mouth of a titan, with no way to stop or change paths. Its arms were reached towards him, like a mother beckoning a child to come closer for a hug.

He let out a scream as it closed with a sickening crunch.

And he was left alone, hooked into a tree, having watched his teammates die.

He didn't know how, or why, but at that moment his hook slipped from the purchase it had. Caught by surprise, he couldn't react quickly enough to the titan waiting below.

It's gaping jaw opened wide, wider than should be possible, and snapped down at him. He barely managed to avoid being a bite-sized snack, but the damage was still done.

He flew up to another branch, using the last of his gas. Fuck.

Blood spilled endlessly from the gaping wound in his shoulder. Drip, drop, drip, drop.

What was left of his shoulder, anyway. Considering that most of it was gone, long lost in the jaws of some damn titan.

The end. This was the fuckin' end. He knew this now.

His remaining fist clenched, nailing biting into his palms and spilling more blood. _Not that it matters. Gonna be dead soon anyway…_

And a hand snatched him from his branch.

An abnormal that jumped. _Marvellous_.

He let out a shout of pain. There wasn't much he could do by now, though, as the jumping titan landed and opened its mouth, ready to claim its prize.

And as the hands slowly loosened to drop him in that waiting maw, he could swear he saw _him_, blood soaked and mutilated.

He fell, and the jaws snapped shut.

This was the end.


	3. 2 - Exponential

**A/N:** Thank you to Mikasa and Luke-Lindsedt for reviewing, and everyone else for reading and stuff.

You said it was short... So this one is over 2,000 words! Enjoy.

* * *

Morning 

The hot summer sun was shining down on the beachside city, making any metal surface gleam hazily, growing hotter to the touch the further the day progressed.

_It's fucking disgusting._

He'd been here for barely a week, and he already hated this goddamned place.

First of all, it was ridiculously hot. Secondly, it was too warm. Thirdly—Well, I'm sure you got the picture by now. The fabric of his shirt was clinging to his back uncomfortably, and he was sweating amounts that should've been bloody illegal.

_Ugh, I'm absolutely covered in it!_

He paused and turned his eyes up and glared at the sun, black eyes narrowed and squinting, for a few moments before giving up and turning away. If only he could fly up and cut the sun into ribbons…!

He chuckled at _that_ thought. Utterly ridiculous to even consider, because after all, humans didn't fly. And even if he did, like Icarus, he'd only end up falling straight back down with melted wax wings.

Just, no. Not even _gods_ were meant to fly. At least not without mechanical aid.

He scoffed, tilting his head back down as he continued on down the street.

Complete idiocy.

Still, it didn't change the fact that it was _fucking hot and sweaty and gross._ _Unhygienic, filthy, disgusting._ He needed to find shelter, and he needed to find it quick, before even more sweat accumulated on his body.

He stepped down into a side alley, the shade a blissful reprieve of which he'd have been happy to stand in for a while, but a woman had entered with a dog, a nasty little yappy thing, and it was barely restrained by its leash and collar.

Needless to say he had little interest in being licked, bitten, or jumped on by the dirty beast, and so he exited quickly out the other side and down into the main street.

He felt he'd been walking around, drenched in a disgusting layer of filth, for what seemed like hours, but it was barely even thirty minutes. He walked along the main street in search of shade, even the smallest crevice, but it seemed every single shaded spot known to mankind was already taken.

Taking a look around at the other sweaty shade-seekers milling about, continually seeking out shade, he decided he didn't want to be just another sweat drenched wretch in the crowd.

He ducked down an alleyway and off into a nearly empty street, and just kept walking.

* * *

He slumped down into the small chair, hard plastic pressing into his back as he leaned back slightly.

Situated in a quiet street in an oriental part of town, he had very little idea how he'd found the small café. The outside area was pokey, but it was also shaded, and a rickety fan blasted icy air. Whilst the seating arrangements left a little to be desired, it would suffice. And it was certainly better than suffering in the sun.

He grimaced as the cool air began to dry his sweat. _Perfect! Just what he needed, dry, sticky sweat all over him_. He wiped at his forehead a bit, brushing back soaked locks of black hair in disgust.

"Greeting, Master! Might I take your order?"

He sat up with a jolt at the decidedly feminine voice coming from behind. Fuck, when did she—

He turned to look at the girl—No, more of a woman, really— who had snuck up behind him. Long red hair tied in a ponytail, clunky, chunky glasses… And a _maid_ outfit.

He deadpanned. "_What the fuck_."

She laughed, at first normal sounding, before it turning into maniacal cackling, head bowed down as she cackled uncontainable, flipping her index fingers up to point at the sign above. Looking like she wanted to clutch her stomach, cry, and laugh all together.

_La Maid – Let us servicing you this fine day, master!_

Despite the obvious Engrish and tiny font, he still knew what _that _meant. He blanched and barked out a shout.

"_Oh,_ _hell no_!"

He jumped from the small seat, and dashed off down the street without a single glance back, _sun and heat and filth_ _be damned, he was out of there._

The maniacal laughter of the redhead echoed behind him.

* * *

"Oh, _man…_ The look on his face was _hilarious_!" she clutched at her stomach and let out another wave of cackles, whilst the light-haired pair at her side just sighed and shook their heads at her antics, already well used to this kind of behaviour.

"_Oh_, Hanji…"

She shot the shortest present a mock serious look. "What? _What?!_ That face, that _face…" _she dissolved back into helpless laughter.

Said shortest of the placed her hands on her hips. "_Zoe_, we have _customers…_" She gave a pointed look at a pair of fair-haired men in the corner. The redhead took a few deep, gasping breaths then shrugged calm, as if she hadn't been laughing crazily at all.

"Oh, who cares about those two, Christa? They're _always_ in here, and I swear, they hardly pay us any attention _at all_!" Her cheeks puffed as she pulled a face at them.

The final member of the trio straightened up, elbowing the other two as the glass doors slid open.

In unison, the three of them greeted the newest customer with a joyful "Welcome back, Master!"

And the two in the corner sat there, half-drunk cups of tea and coffee sitting forgotten as they talked quietly, the conversation occasionally interrupted by a deep inhale and a nod.

* * *

Afternoon 

The rickety ceiling fan likes to clank _clank _every 5 seconds. It doesn't really _clank_ do its job very well, either. But _clank_ to the students in class 2-A, it is easy to tune out the annoying, repetitive sound. Rather like white noise; a droning sound played at a low volume, in an office or a bedroom or such, until the occupants brain subconsciously filters anything of that volume level out, a form of soundproofing, essentially.

Though she thinks, as she rests her chin on his hand, that probably wasn't the intention of the school, nor the teachers. Rather, a complete and utter lack of care.

Of course, considering the state of the other rooms, it should come as little surprise that the fan wasn't working at top speed. All of the classrooms had one thing or another wrong. Though, now she briefly thinks on it as a wider picture, these problems were all quite… Specific.

A garbled shout interrupts her train of thoughts, and she shifts slightly as the sound of a loud _thump_ brings her back to the dreary, dank classroom with its peeling paint.

Mr Bossard. Their current teacher and one of those teachers you can't help but hate. With a droning, incessant drawl, and a constant look on his face of utter distaste, it was really little wonder.

Still, she thinks, as she shifts her gaze to his victim, _I'm glad that wasn't me._

* * *

_Clouds. The sky was filled with fluffy, white clouds. He lay on the soft grass, arms tucked behind his head as he lounged._

_Peaceful times like these were rare, even inside the walls. For members of the Scouting Legion, almost non-existent._

_Though, he supposed, at that rank, you had that kind of privilege, as to just up and leave everything for a few hours._

_And since he'd been so graciously invited…._

_In the end, they were curled up, arms in a tangle, and eventually drifted to sleep._

_Thud!_

_He felt a prickling on the edge of his awareness, but dammit he didn't want to leave, to leave the only thing that made him _feel _anything, to leave the precious memories that slowly because less and less _there.

_Another thud, this one closer and louder and real and—_

He shot up in his seat, eyes wide.

"Where! Where are they?!" He snarled as his head whipped around widely as he looked, _titans, where are they?!_ The sound of laughter reached his ears, and he plunged back into reality as if he'd been doused by a bucket of ice water.

Auruo Bossard, Languages teacher. _Check._ Classroom full of kids. _Check._ Ah, well. He could feel the back of his neck warming. "U-uhm-"

He was interrupted by the thick clearing of a throat. "Lost something, Mr Jaeger? Your marbles, perhaps?" He chuckled, a few brave souls joining him somewhere in the back of the room.

He rapped the top of the book, "From here, if you'd please," then walked back to the front of the class.

Eren looked down at the book. Oh_. German_. Well, that was easy enough… He supposed it could be considered a fringe benefit, all things considered… He tilted his head and scowled up at the teacher; no matter how many times, that man, never changed. Not. One. _Bit._ And Eren wasn't going to change his attitude towards him unless he did.

Clearing his throat slightly, and standing, he read aloud the indicated passage. "Whoever fights with monsters should see to it that he does not become a monster in the process." The entire room had fallen into shocked silence- Eren Jaeger? The _class _clown? The generic, standard _idiot_ with the _worst_ grades in the entire school? Translating German like a top ranking student?! WHAT THE FUCK?

"And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you." The clear of a throat made him pause, and he looked up at one infuriated Auruo Bossard with a smirk. "That will be enough, Mr Jaege-"

His foot stumbled on the cracked linoleum on the floor, and he promptly bit his tongue. With one hand to his mouth and the other frantically waving, he dismissed the class.

The clock only said 2:48… And for that Eren was glad as he rushed to be the first one out -nearly forgetting his bags-, and down the hall.

* * *

In the library, it was quiet. Aside from a few soft, muffled mutterings, and the gentle, hum of the air conditioning, it was silent. Calm and peaceful, a perfect environment for reading, studying, and learning.

The soft, sweeping sound of pages being turned broke the tranquil silence of the inner right corner.

Right by the window, tucked up against Anthropology and Agriculture, it was the perfect place to go if you wanted to avoid people. A barely used corner of the library. Unfortunately, it was also well known that this was his 'hideout' of sorts.

And the isolated nature of the place only made it worse on him in the end, it really did.

The thugs numbered three. Their names Nack, Dazz, and Hitch. He didn't have any classes with them, but they'd come to him often.

The trio stalked over to the small, quiet corner in the back of the library where the young blond sat, unaware, reading a book on the planets. The short blond slammed the book shut on the small hand running across the page.

Armin yanked his hand away from the crushing pressure of the book with a gasp of pain, clutching it to his chest, his head jerking up at them. Fear, pain… He leaned as far back in his chair as he could.

Hitch raised a booted foot and slammed it into his abdomen, sending him and the chair flying into the shelf behind him, a few books toppling down on his head. "What have we told you about coming here, outsider?" She raised her leg again, "You don't belong here." Punctuating each word with a sharp kick.

"I-I am a student h-here, the same as you!" He held his arms up in a desperate attempt to protect himself, and she let out a raucous laugh.

"Oh, really? Well then you must have some friends here, right? Go get your _friends_ to vouch for you!" More laughter, harsh and cruel, and with one last kick to his stomach, the three turned and left.

He let out a choked, pained sob, hunched over and clutching weakly at his stomach. _Friends._ He'd never had any, and he never would. After all, who would want to be friends with a loser like him, who liked only to read books?

* * *

Evening 

The clock struck 7, and the bells in the clock tower rang accordingly. He pulled his hood up over his head, rubbing his arms and licking his numb lips. The weather had been so nice and warm earlier, but as night fell, the temperature dropped to a ridiculous low. If he hadn't had his jacket with him, he's sure he'd have frostbite by now.

He shivered, and it wasn't entirely from the cold, either. _Aftershock_, was the only word he had for the thick lethargy that blanketed his mind like molasses and dredged everything down to pace even a snail could beat.

At least it was quiet, as the occasional car and the noisy squeak of his sneakers were the only sounds in the street as he slowly walked down the footpath.

His thoughts turned to home; to that empty little house. He'll turn on the heater, so that it'll be warm. But before that, a quick stop at the shop, to pick up something for dinner.

It's a few minutes of walking, but the small convenience store sits ahead. In this part of town, it's the only thing still open this late, surrounded by darkened clothing shops and tacky souvenir stalls.

Entering through the automatic doors, he bypasses the display of sugary treats and chips in favor of vegetables; Onion, Carrot, Mushroom, Cabbage.

_A stir-fry tonight_, he decides, and takes more than he knows he'll eat, _and leftovers for lunch tomorrow._ He carries the basket down one of the tiny isles, snagging a can of bamboo shoots as he walks, before pausing at the noodles.

Singapore or Udon? Somehow, a frown finds its way to his face. The choice of what type to get inevitably catches him every time, and he gives the shelf a sour look as he scrutinizes the packets intently.

After a few minutes of glaring, a voice from his back left interrupts his thoughts with a quiet, somewhat annoyed, mutter of "get the Udon."

He nods to himself and packs the Udon in the basket, glad to have finally made a choice, before realizing, _hey_, someone actually spoke. He starts, and spins around to look at the source.

He feels the blood rush from his face and his heart must've dropped into his stomach—

And he's insanely grateful for his hood covering up most of his face, even if it _does_ make him look like a drug dealer, because he can't help but _stare_ because _oh my god_ it's _Levi_ just standing right there and-

And the shorter man isn't even paying any attention to Eren's plight, isn't even looking in the same direction, and so Eren just takes one step back and another and soon finds that he's fled out of the tiny, cramped isle and paid for his items and gone straight out the doors.

He's just in his own little world, because right now he is _feeling_, feeling something _real_ and not just the remnants of a slowly fading memory— And his pulse was pounding in his ears, he couldn't hear anything but Levi's breath and his shoulders and—

By the time he gets home, he's shivering madly, and so he forgoes the vegetables and goes straight to bed, not bothering to remove his clothes and curling up as tight as he can, with his head burrowed into the pillows.

His dreams are filled with _Levi._


End file.
